Page 73 of Elas (Mate’s Mark #2)

August

My body shakes, but I keep my head high as the guards escort me back to my cell.

Whatever they injected me with made me weak, but it didn’t stop me from fighting.

I lunged at the medic and scratched him on the cheek, deep enough to break the skin.

My victory was short-lived, though. Shock hit me with such force that I fell into the edge of the stainless steel countertop.

My forehead throbs, a knot already forming along the faint trickle of blood.

“What did they do to you today?” Taryn asks from her cell beside mine. Her familiar presence is the one comfort I’ve had during my days imprisoned here.

“Injected me with something.” My body is growing weaker as I drop onto my cot, staring down at my trembling hands.

“Yellow or orange?”

“Orange.”

She hums sympathetically, and I can picture her nodding. “Yeah, that one’s the worst. Bright side… if anyone ev er asks you if you know what it’s like to be sunburned on the inside of your body, you can say yes.” I huff an unamused laugh, and she’s quieter as she asks, “Did you see her?”

Taryn’s mate is a Bhotan woman, and hard to miss, at six and a half feet tall with dark red skin, and a booming voice that carries through the prison. Sometimes we hear her arguing with the medics, and it always makes Taryn smile.

“Yeah,” I say, “she was sleeping when we walked past, or at least resting.”

“Good,” she mumbles, more to herself than to me. “She needs to rest. Have you gotten any updates on Elas?”

My hand flies over my chest as excruciating pain slices through my heart. “They won’t tell me anything.”

“Do you think he’s even…” She trails off, and my lip pulls up in a snarl as I interrupt.

“Stop that… don’t even think that. He’s alive. He has to be alive. I would know it if he wasn’t.”

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. That was awful to say.”

The fight drains out of me as I slump against the wall.

My insides sear with the lingering aftershocks of whatever poison they forced into my system.

I’d fought them, too, knocking their instruments to the ground before they strapped me to the bed.

Monitors were hooked up all over my body, and needles were stuck into the mark on my chest like a pincushion.

Dots of blood soak through my shirt—tiny crimson reminders of what they’ve done.

“I still can’t believe he turned me in,” I whisper, the familiar sting of betrayal flaring as the sight of Xeni’s impassive face floods back. The blast of anger feeds my energy, and I stand to pace the cramped cell. “Why would he do that? What could he possibly gain from it?”

“Information is currency in this world, August. I’ve been around long enough to learn that by now. The right intel gets you further than any sort of precious metals or resources you could ever offer.”

“But Xeni was… maybe not a friend, but the closest I had to one in that hospital. Elas hated him, but there was goodness in him. He was kind to me.”

“You said he cared about you?”

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “He wasn’t lying about that. I could tell he was genuinely hurt when I turned him down.”

“Maybe that’s the reason why, August. Broken hearts lead to reckless decisions.”

“That isn’t it,” I argue, crossing my arms in frustration, then uncrossing them when my chest aches from the pressure. “I know it isn’t. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Stop trying to rationalize the actions of monsters,” she reprimands gently, reverting for a few moments to the leader I worked underneath at the camp. We fall into silence for a moment as I close my eyes through another flare of pressure in my skull.

“Hey, Taryn?”

“Yeah?”

“Back at the camp… did you know about those attacks on the convoys?”

She huffs a quiet, bitter laugh. “No. Bruce wanted to take my place at the head of the camp, and he convinced a few of his cronies to join him. He thought he’d be able to blame it on me and reason with the military when they came.

He actually thought they’d leave him there in charge if he agreed to work with them. ”

“Gods, he’s an idiot,” I mutter, and she grunts her agreement. “How’d you find out?”

“A few of the others that worked with him were in my cell at Glaston. They confessed once they realized he’d doomed us.”

“I knew you hadn’t done it,” I whisper, and I can feel her smile even if I can’t see it. “You’re too good for that.”

“Thanks, August.” The main doorway beeps and pushes open, and we wait in silence as dinner is delivered from cell to cell.

My appetite is nonexistent, and has been since they dragged Elas’s unconscious body away from me that night. I’ve been forcing myself to eat, though, for no other reason than to keep my strength up. Weakness won’t do me any favors in this place.

A familiar face rounds the corner. The same Khileon guard that escorted me to my barracks walks to my cell with a tray of food.

I dash to the door and grip the bars. “Matuk,” I say, and he doesn’t meet my eyes as he slides my dinner through the slot.

“Thank you. Can you tell me anything about Elas? Please? Anything at all.”

“Not supposed to talk to you,” he mumbles, flicking his eyes up to mine.

“I won’t tell a soul. Please, Matuk. You won’t get in trouble. I just need to know that he’s okay.”

He swallows, and his eyes dart around the room. “He’s… alive.”

“Alive… but not okay?” I ask, dread squeezing my throat closed. He remains silent, but the quick, nervous flick of his gaze speaks volumes. “Take my dinner to him,” I plead, pushing my tray back towards him. “Please. Please. Make sure he’s getting enough to eat.”

He hisses, shoving the tray so hard it clatters to the ground, the food ruined. “They will kill me in a heartbeat. Do not ask this of me.”

“Please?” I whisper, but he squares his shoulders and storms away. I fall against the wall, fighting the tears that are welling in my eyes again. All I do these days is cry, and it doesn’t do any good.

It doesn’t help him.

“Do you want my bread?” Taryn asks gently. “Don’t eat off these floors, August. There’s no telling what’s down there.”

“No, I’m not… I’m not hungry.” I stare at the chunk of bread in its fallen spot against the wall, grains of rice scattered in an abstract pattern across the dirty concrete, and I wonder if I’ll ever be hungry again.